The Card
by oldmule
Summary: Post S10 and it's February 14th!
1. Chapter 1

**A request from Gazelle1 which I've left very close to the deadline. My apologies that it's not that great.**

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><p>His eyes opened.<p>

He was still there.

The world was still there.

With no joy and no spirit he got out of bed and wearily walked towards the bathroom.

The cereal tasted of nothing, in fact he couldn't actually remember eating it. The tea was warm and wet. He didn't know when he'd last really tasted anything.

He pulled on his coat, straightened his collar and stepped towards the door. He looked down at the post on the mat and wondered if deliveries had been getting earlier, or if he had failed to notice it lying there when he came in late last night. He was always late. It was easier that way.

He was about to step over it when a handwritten envelope caught his eye. His head tilted curiously, he bent, he opened it. Puzzled, he hesitated, looking at the card in his hands.

He couldn't remember when last he'd had a Valentine's card.

There was a single red heart on a plain white background. It was tasteful. He might have chosen it himself. If there was anyone for whom to choose it.

Inside were only two words:

**_To Harry_**

One small cross;

**_X_**

And a singe initial;

**_R_**

He felt the burst of adrenaline release within. He felt the breath in his chest. He felt the sting of his sweat glands. He felt the hammer of his heartbeat.

And as they all ebbed away, he felt angry.

He stepped over the remaining post on the floor, the door banging closed behind him.

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><p>"Morning," Dimitri said as the pod doors opened.<p>

"Is it?" growled Harry.

Dimitri glanced across at Erin. They watched him cross into his office and bury his head in a pile of paperwork.

Neither spoke, there was nothing to say.

Two hours later they were all sat in the meeting room having worked through the latest threat levels from several new extremist splinter groups.

"Anything else?" asked Erin.

Harry said nothing.

"Right," she said to the team, accustomed to his silence, "let's get on with it."

But before they had chance to stand something landed on the table. It was the card.

"I want you to look at that," he said to Callum.

"I didn't know you cared, Harry."

Callum really wished he'd learn to keep his mouth shut.

"Check it for prints, I don't know, anything really."

Callum's hand froze before it and using his pen he opened it.

"I want to know whose sick sense of humour this is," declared Harry roughly and strode from the office.

Callum turned the card towards Dimitri and Erin. And they understood why this was not going to be an easy day.

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><p>Sitting at his desk Harry watched Callum. He watched his intense concentration as he gazed at his computer. He watched the muscles in his face slowly began to sag as his jaw began to drop. He watched his eyes widen and he saw the hand raise and rub slowly across his mouth.<p>

Erin saw it too and moved over to Callum's terminal, her hand resting upon his shoulder.

"Cal?"

He didn't answer her but Harry saw him point to the computer screen and then he watched Erin. Watched her face fall. Watched her look up from the screen to his office and met her gaze.

He got up and without losing eye contact with her he stepped through onto the grid.

"Fingerprint matches …" she said simply, "… there's only one."

Callum turned the screen towards him. Half the screen was filled with a large image of a print. The other with a photo. It was a familiar photo and beneath it a familiar name. Ruth Evershed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Mad busy but here's a small update.**

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><p>"It can't be," Callum murmured.<p>

"Obviously!" Harry's voice sounded hard.

"But, how…?"

"Could she have got it ready to send? Or –"

"What? Posted it three months ago," Harry snapped, "Royal Mail's not that bad, besides which Ruth wasn't really a Valentine's sort of person."

"Callum's already checked, it was sent two days ago from Cornwall," said Erin.

"A small village by the coast," he added.

Harry's eyebrows raised, surprised at his precision.

"The postmark obviously tells us it was Cornwall but the card's a specialised one, only a few stockists and fortunately only one in the southwest."

"Someone with access could have got her prints off record and replicated them on the card." Erin suggested.

"But why? Who'd be that cruel?" Callum mused.

They both looked up at Harry. His jaw was set but his eyes, as always these days, were lifeless. In his mind the images were back, the images he didn't want to see anymore, the images he thought had almost left him. But hadn't.

The sea and the sky and the long grass. And her pale white lifeless face.

He shook his head slightly. All he wanted to remember was her smile, her warmth, the pink tinge on her cheek. But all he saw was death.

"See what else you can find," he said quietly and turned for the pod doors, passing Dimitri.

"Is he okay?" he asked as he watched Harry's heavy shoulders disappear down the corridor.

Erin shook her head.

"Far from."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the kind reviews - sorry the chapters are getting smaller!**

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><p>The river flowed past.<p>

Always.

It was always there. It never changed. It was the one constant in his life.

Friends, colleagues, lovers, they came and went but the river was always there.

It calmed him.

When he was drowning, which was often, it saved him.

When he was suffocating with no air in his lungs, when the grid felt like it would crush him and kill him he sought out the river and felt the air rush into his chest.

It had been like this ever since she had died.

And today was no different.

The grid had become both his gaol and his refuge. It hid him. It sheltered him from the loneliness of an empty home but yet it suffocated him, suffocated him with memories, taunted him with the image of her and hammered home the pain with relentless disregard.

He didn't blame it. He didn't hate it. It was just at times like this he needed to escape it.

Until it pulled him back.

Which it would.

It couldn't be her. It was impossible. It couldn't. She was dead. She _is_ dead.

He told himself it more than once and yet still he felt the stirring of hope: futile hope, ridiculous hope … hopeless hope.

And yet it fed him.

As the river helped to fill his lungs, the hope massaged his heart.

If only … if only it could be true.


	4. Chapter 4

"Harry…"

"I'm going."

"But –"

"Erin, I can't do this job forever. Sometimes if feels like I might, but that's only because I have nothing else. I'm going."

She nodded her head. There was nothing else to say.

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><p>He waited for his driver.<p>

"Cornwall, Sir Harry?"

"Yes, Cornwall."

"Should be a nice drive."

"Yes, it should."

A nice drive was not what he was expecting. A 'nice' anything was not what he was expecting.

If he found the joker that was doing this he would remove his Saville Row tie, wrap it around the bastard's neck and slowly and most willingly throttle the life from him.

He need not worry about redemption. Redemption was for the living.

There was no redemption without her.

His humanity counted for nothing without her.

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><p>"Here we are, sir. Sir...?"<p>

Harry had nodded off. He rarely slept, but the rhythm of the road, the pounding of the rain, the repetition of the wiper blades, they lulled him, they conned him, they persuaded him it would all be alright.

He was awake now.

He knew it would not.

He got out of the car and looked along the deserted, wet street, lit by a single lamp. And he wondered why he was here.

'R'.

R for Rebecca, R for Rosemary, R for Roberta, R for …. R for anything but Ruth.

R for Ruse, for deceipt, for hoax, for con.

For the moment R would have to be for rest. And if he was to find the truth, he needed it.

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><p>"Shit!"<p>

"What's up?" asked Dimitri.

Erin ran her hand through her hair, which had escaped its clip.

"Ruth's files were accessed a week ago."

"Who by?"

"Six."

"Anyone specific?"

"Doesn't say."

She sat gazing at the screen. Dimitri looked puzzled.

"Maybe Callum can find something," he added hopefully.

"Callum ..." announced Callum, "has already found something." He lay a piece of paper on the desk between them. "Just call me a genius."

They both leant forwards.

"Hospital records?" read Erin.

Callum nodded.

"Admittance of unidentified -" Dimitri never finished his sentence.

"Genius!" said Erin, "you bloody glorious genius!"


	5. Chapter 5

'R' may have been for rest, but not that night.

Sleep wouldn't come.

At one o'clock he stared at the ceiling and wondered what he was doing.

At two o'clock he thought about calling a taxi and going back to the grid.

At three o'clock he convinced himself that Mace was the vicious bastard behind this.

At four o'clock he imagined her there. Lying beside him. Warm and alive.

At five o'clock he felt a single tear roll down his face, wetting the pillow.

At six o'clock he wondered if he should get up.

At seven o'clock he did.

He wasn't interested in breakfast. Most people would have noticed the enticing smell of bacon as they walked out of their room, but not Harry.

He walked the Main Street, this time in the daylight. He walked the few streets that branched from it. He wondered down the narrow cliff road to the seaweed strewn slipway. And then he walked back.

He waited patiently until nine o'clock and when the sign in the window was overturned to read 'OPEN' he entered the small village shop which served as grocers, gift shop and post office.

He gravitated towards the rack of cards, hearts now replaced with easter bunnies.

"Morning," said the lady behind the counter, "bit better than yesterday."

Harry looked at her blankly.

"The weather," she explained.

"Oh, yes. Much better."

"Never thought it would stop."

"No…no, torrential."

He took a deep breath and as casually as he could admired a particular brand of cards, wondering if she had sold many for Valentine's Day.

"Yes, they were very popular, I'll have to get more for next year. Sold out, right enough."

"There was one, very simple. A plain white card with a single elongated red heart?"

"Ten, I had. All gone."

"Do you remember if you sold them to anyone you didn't know, anyone... unusual?"

"Oh, aye," she beamed, "get one did you? In search of the mystery lady?"

Harry smiled a hollow smile.

"You could say that? Though I also meant men?"

"Right..." the woman looked a little embarrassed and hurried on, "...not that I remember. Either locals or tourists passing through I suppose, like I say I don't really remember specifically."

He nodded wearily and turned towards the door.

"Thank you."

"I hope you find them, though," she called.

"There's little hope of that," said the man as the door closed behind him.

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><p>"Home Secretary."<p>

"Miss Watts, always a pleasure. No grand vizier today?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Harry. No Harry?"

"No."

She was curt. He was surprised but he let it go and still smiling sat back down.

Erin didn't sit.

He indicated the seat. She remained standing.

"Four months ago your office received an alert from The Royal London Hospital."

She let the thought hang. Towers said nothing.

"Barts informed you that a patient whose identity had initially been unconfirmed had later been flagged as a senior civil servant in the Home Office. In your office, specifically."

She paused.

"Ring any bells, Home Secretary?"

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><p>He crossed the road from the shop and concluded the best place to be was the pub. Fortunately they were serving morning coffee and so he settled himself by the window, cafetiere beside him, newspaper in hand.<p>

The coffee was soon drunk, but the paper remained unread. His eyes rarely leaving the street beyond and the shop opposite.

He didn't know what he was waiting for but it was the only link that he had.

And so he waited.

By 11.30 he was bored of coffee.

By 12.30 he had finished a slightly flat pint of bitter.

By 12.45 he couldn't hang on any longer. With a quick glance at the window he hurried to the gents, hoping that if something happened outside it wouldn't happen in the next two minutes.

As the toilet door swung closed behind him a figure in a beige coat walked slowly up the main street and into the shop.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for very many kind and lovely reviews. Slightly longer this time!**

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><p>"Why?"<p>

Towers sighed. He didn't have a good answer, it was just the way things had happened.

"When I got the alert, I went straight to the hospital. They barely knew themselves if she was alive or dead. I was told the likelihood was that she wouldn't survive."

"Why weren't we informed?"

She wasn't with Section D anymore, Erin. All her status, ID, everything was civil service."

"_Why _weren't we informed?" Erin repeated coldly,

"You thought she was dead. Did you want to discover she was alive only to watch her die again, hours later?"

Erin said nothing for a moment. An image of Harry's heartbreak carved across her mind. The sound of his sobs burning in her ears.

"And what then?" she asked eventually.

Towers rose from his desk and moved towards the window, gazing out.

"You know about the so called 'adrenalin'?" he asked.

She nodded, "We do now."

"Bloody spooks," he muttered, "in a former cold war hideout you should have expected nothing to be as it seemed."

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><p>Harry dropped back into his seat and looked out of the window. Nothing.<p>

He reached for his glass but it was empty.

"Timed that just right."

He looked away from the window. It was the landlady.

Across the road the shop door opened and the figure in the beige coat exited and began to walk slowly back the way they had come.

"Thought you might be in need of another one."

The landlady handed him a fresh pint, this time it looked much livelier.

"We've been having a problem with the pump, so if the last was a bit flat then this should make up for it."

She smiled.

Harry thanked her very much for her consideration and lifting the glass to his lips, glanced at the shop opposite.

The pint did taste better.

The landlady walked away.

Once more he peered out of the window at an empty road.

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><p>"For several days they thought she <em>would<em> die, the wound was terrible and the drugs were old and initially unidentifiable. If I'm honest I did wonder if I should have told you, but the days just went by and what was an imminent death became a very, very slow recovery, always teetering on the edge."

Erin glared at him with cold, accusatory eyes.

"You let us bury her!"

"I thought she was dead already. Or as good as. At that stage even the quality of life on recovery was said to be minimal."

The icy blast from across the desk was still assaulting him.

"I gave you the memory of a committed colleague, not the reminder of a life not worth living."

"You should have told Harry!"

"Should I? He let her go, let her come to me. If he'd wanted her to stay I'm sure she would, besides he's lost colleagues before."

Erin sank into the chair, her hand covering her face.

"I'm sorry, Erin but Harry's a good deal tougher than you imagine."

She shook her head before speaking softly.

"You really have no idea, do you?"

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><p>Harry was torn: torn between the temptation of filing his insides with warm, wet beer for the rest of the day; torn between thoughts of vitriolic vengeance; and riven with the vaguest sense of hope that though he shunned it, would not go away.<p>

He decided on the beer.

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><p>"Where is she?" demanded Erin.<p>

Towers breathed heavily as he gazed out of the window.

"I don't know."

"How is she?"

"I saw her about six weeks ago. She told me not to visit again. And then she checked herself out."

"Why did you still not tell us?"

He turned from the window.

"I don't know. So much time had gone past. You all seemed to have moved on, got on with things."

She laughed bitterly.

He wearily sat down behind his desk.

"Did she not ask about Harry? Why he hadn't visited?"

"She couldn't remember much of the day, she said little about him other than he'd told her to get on with her new life."

"Could you not see they were in love with each other?" Erin asked incredulously.

He looked at her, guiltily.

"No."

She shook her head and smiled a sad smile.

"No. Neither could we."

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><p>Two o'clock.<p>

Three pints down.

One empty street.

The shop had closed early.

If he didn't order some food now it would be too late.

He looked at the menu. There was nothing he wanted.

He smiled that same hollow smile – that just about summed it all up.

"I forgot it was early closing. Have you got a bottle of red. I could take out?"

"Course love."

His head slowly lifted, he didn't know how because he felt as if his chest had been grasped in a vice.

He wasn't breathing. He was suffocating. Drowning.

He needed to suck in a lungful of beer tinged air but none would come. He opened his mouth but it caught in his throat.

The blood pounded in his ears like the sea on the shore.

"There you go. How you doing today?" asked the Landlady.

"Not so bad. Thank you."

His legs, which he didn't truly trust, pushed him upwards.

His thighs bumped against the table. The near full glass toppled, fell and hit the floor.

He didn't feel or hear any of it.

He stood, unable to speak, unable to breathe, incapable of anything.

The landlady ran over with a cloth and told him not to worry but he didn't hear her and he didn't move as the beer soaked through the knees of his trousers.

He saw nothing but the woman at the bar whose voice he knew, whose face he loved, who had turned towards him at the sound of the breaking glass and who was looking at him now with the same expression of wonder and shock.

He looked at Ruth.


	7. Chapter 7

**Back to the short ones!**

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><p>She smiled at him. Slowly. Hesitantly.<p>

He felt the breath rush into his chest and inflate his empty lungs.

She stepped towards him. He was glad, he didn't think he could move.

His eyes were stinging, the tears pricked as he fought not to fall to pieces here in the middle of a village pub, in front of her, in front of the live, living, beautiful body that he had last held, cold and close.

As much as he had willed it, he had not been able to give her warmth that day, nor life, even though he would have gladly given her his own.

But yet here she was. Alive.

He loved the word. He screamed it in his head. Alive.

Living.

Breathing.

Ruth.

"Hi," she said.

'Hi' - it was not enough. So nowhere near coming anywhere close to enough.

"Hi," he replied.

"You two know each other, I take it?" said the landlady.

Neither of them replied.

"A glass of red and a pint, then," she said, heading off.

Ruth's knees bent and she sat awkwardly down at the table.

His breathing was ragged, like the tide. Every seventh wave was huge, every other weak, clashing against the last.

He took her lead and sat back down.

But that was all he dare do. He dare not speak in case his voice gave him away. He dare not move in case his body gave him away.

In fact, by the time the landlady returned with their drinks neither had still spoken.

"I take it you got the card?" Ruth said finally.

He nodded.

She glanced away out of the window. He didn't need to. He knew the view intimately.

"You look …." he started, but he realised there weren't words to begin to explain how she looked … "well," was all he could eventually manage.

"I know things had been …difficult," she said suddenly, "But I thought you might have visited…just once."

"Visited?"

"The hospitaI," she said emotionally, "I nearly died, Harry."

It was then that he had to clamp his hand over his mouth to prevent the cry, the scream, the howl that was forming in his throat. To hide the tremble of his chin, the quiver of his lip.

It hid his face, but it didn't mask his eyes.

And it didn't stop the tears which demanded to fall.

She saw the horror in his eyes and for all his chastisement could do nothing but reach out to him. Her hand pushed across the distance between them and slid over the back of his. But he didn't let it rest there. His wrist twisted, grabbing the soft, small hand, his fingers gripping, needing, clinging to hers.

His left hand unclamped itself from his face but hovered nervously nearby as she caught sight of the twist of his lips and heard the tremble in his voice.

"I didn't visit, Ruth, because I'd watched you die."


	8. Chapter 8

**This is mean of me - yes, it's an update that many of you asked for, but no, it's not the update that you wanted. Sorry but couldn't resist. Next chapter hopefully tomorrow.**

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><p>The landlady didn't bring their drinks. She poured them. She stood them on the bar.<p>

But she knew enough of people, even strangers, to not interrupt the couple by the window.

The door opened and the owner of the village shop wondered into the pub.

"G and T, Marion, please?" she asked of the landlady, glancing round to see who was in.

"Right you are."

She spotted Harry a moment before her drink arrived.

"The new lady's got a fella by the looks of it," whispered Marion, nodding to the window.

"Oh, no," breathed the shop lady, confidentially, "I think you'll find he's gay."

Marion nodded. She knew enough of people to know the man in the corner holding Ruth's hand like his very life depended upon it, was certainly not gay.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry for the delay - would have put this up earlier but the site has been down most of the day!**

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><p>"You don't remember?" he asked gently.<p>

She shook her head.

"I remember I went to work for the Home Secretary."

She didn't tell him she remembered that he hadn't even attempted to persuade her to stay.

"I remember Sasha and ...Elena."

She shot a look at him, wondering where Elena was right now, wondering if he had left her somewhere waiting for him.

"…and I think you asked me to do something dangerous but I can't recall what."

Harry reluctantly let go of her hand and she immediately felt its absence. She picked up the beer mat in front of her, her fingers worrying at it.

He leant forward, his elbows on the table, steepling his hands together, resting his mouth upon them thoughtfully.

"You told me about the house Ruth," he said quietly after a moment, "the one with the peeling paint."

She watched him curiously, her hands beginning to shred the layers of paper from the mat.

"You told me about the spare room…" his eyes peered over his hands studying her, "…about how you imagined it could be my office."

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise that she had admitted as much to him. Her hands stilled.

He swallowed down the emotion that still threatened to overwhelm him as his knuckles whitened and tensed.

"You asked me to leave the service with you, Ruth… and then you died in my arms."

He paused, overcome for the moment.

"I found you and lost you. And then I buried you."

His forehead dipped to rest upon the clasped, rigid hands.

"Please tell me you're fine now," he whispered, barely audible, "Please tell me that because I can't do this again. I can't lose you for a third time."

"They told me Sasha did it," he heard her say quietly, "I thought you were trying to protect him…and Elena. I thought you …"

His head shot up.

"Didn't care? That's what you thought?"

He saw the tell tale tremble of her lower lip as she nodded slowly.

His jaw clenched as he tried, but failed, to smile at her.

Neither could find the words to speak. They sat across the table, each looking unashamedly at the other. And it was enough.

It was more than enough.

"It's gone," she eventually said.

"What?"

"The house with the peeling paint. It's been sold."

He nodded, "It was lovely. Very you."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I went to see it," he explained.

And then he took a deep, steadying breath.

"We can find another house, Ruth."

He waited.

Willing, needing, promising…all.

"With an office?' she asked, the glimmer of a smile lighting her blue eyes.

'With whatever you want, Ruth. Wherever you want."

Her hand stole across the table, palm up.

"With _who_ ever I want?" she asked.

Her hand lay there. Requesting, offering, wanting … all.

This time his fingers did not grab at her, did not clutch and cling.

They barely touched her skin. They hovered over her fingertips, caressing and relishing every pore. They stroked her palm as lightly as made touch barely possible.

And then his palm slid to hers and the two hands pressed together and made one complete.

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><p>"Marion," called the woman from the village shop.<p>

The landlady crossed to her from the back bar.

"Another G and T, June?" she asked.

"I got it wrong," whispered June, "….he's not gay."


	10. Chapter 10

**Okay, I think this is, in all probability, the end. Gazelle1 I am blaming you entirely for making me write 10 chapters when I'd intended one or two!**

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><p>"Please go through, Sir Harry. He won't be a moment."<p>

Harry rose from his chair, smiled at her and opened the door.

He entered the office and stood waiting, his hands resting on the smooth back of an antique walnut chair.

He was still in exactly the same position some two and a quarter minutes later when the door opened and he heard the familiar voice.

"Harry, how are you?"

He turned slowly to face the Home Secretary.

Towers was smiling, like the politician he was.

He stopped smiling and looked fleetingly surprised as a right hook smashed into the bridge of his nose.

"I resign."

Harry turned and walked away.

Through a blur of pain and tears, Towers saw only a faint impression of the disappearing figure.

"See you later," the Home Secretary's P.A. said cheerily as Harry strode past.

"I doubt that," he muttered.

And then he smiled.

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><p>"How did it go?" asked Ruth as he climbed into the car.<p>

"Very well."

"He accepted your resignation, just like that?'

"I didn't give him a great deal of choice."

He fastened his seat belt.

"Harry, are you sure about this? You're not being too rash?"

He looked at her.

"Rash?" he repeated.

She nodded.

He bit back the tirade of how anything but rash his life concerning her had ever been.

"No, Ruth, I'm not."

He started the car.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she said and smiled.

The car pulled away from the kerb and drove off into the traffic.

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><p>"Have you heard from him?" Dimitri dropped down into his seat.<p>

"No," said Erin, "His driver said he left him in Cornwall last night but since then his phone has been off."

"Maybe he's found something."

"Indeed I have," announced a voice from behind them.

They turned. Standing by the pod doors was Harry.

And beside him, Ruth.

If she had ever doubted that they had not cared then she knew now how much they did.

They almost ran to her, Erin kissing her and Dimitri engulfing her in a hug, their smiles never faltering.

"We're not staying," said Ruth when they had quietened a little. Harry turned to Erin, "In fact you may want to start moving your things into the office, I imagine it may be yours soon enough."

"You're finishing?" she said simply.

"No, Erin," he smiled, "I'm just starting."

And gently he took Ruth's hand and turned back towards the pods.

"We'll let you know where we are," she said looking back.

As the pod doors closed, Callum walked onto the grid from the forgery suite.

"Was that….?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Yes," said Erin, "she's back."

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><p>Harry opened the car door. She stepped forward but paused before climbing in.<p>

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Where would you like to go?"

Her brow knotted in concentration but no answer was forthcoming.

He waited and he watched and he concluded that he loved that look more than any other.

She glanced up, "I …" and then she saw his smiling face.

"What?' she said.

His hand reached out and delicately cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. He leant slowly forward, hovering, hesitating for just a moment before his soft warm lips found hers and kissed her with such tenderness that she could have cried had she not waited and wanted for it for so long.

As he finally pulled away they were both smiling.

"I don't care," she said.

His smile faltered.

"I mean, I don't care where we go. It doesn't matter."

The smile was back.

"Then let's just go home, Ruth…together."


End file.
